


Hope Springs Eternal

by FreeTheSoul



Category: Granblue Fantasy (Video Game)
Genre: 000 spoilers, M/M, Main Character Twins, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-09
Updated: 2019-03-09
Packaged: 2019-11-14 04:41:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18045683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreeTheSoul/pseuds/FreeTheSoul
Summary: Two hundred years, and it’s time to go back home.





	1. Departure

**Author's Note:**

> An important note: This is placed long after the end of the MSQ. It runs under the assumption that the MCs share immortality (or near immortality with harshly reduced aging) with Lyria due to their life-link.
> 
> Two hundred years was a bit of an arbitrary number, but it's a long enough time for many people on the original journey to pass away - and for the tales of the singularity, supreme primarch, and angels to fade from the memories of mortals.
> 
> This was written a bit quickly, but I hope you enjoy nonetheless.

Gran and Djeeta’s childhood home in Zinkenstill, heavily refurbished in the decades ensuing the end of their adventures on the Grandcypher, has been transformed into a small coffeeshop with living space on the second floor. It’s a quaint, quiet life for the heroes of a bygone era, whose memories are recalled as legends and little else.

The chatter surrounding the old wooden table on the second floor is homely, filled by Gran and Djeeta’s gossip and teasing as Lyria and Sandalphon listen in warm silence - with the occasional interjection - on opposite sides of the table. It’s become uncommon for the four of them to be gathered like this, but Sandalphon’s visit had prompted the trio to close shop early for the day.

There’s a lull of quiet in the conversation as they all take a moment to contemplate their coffee. In it, Sandalphon sets his cup down gently, watching his broken reflection in the dark liquid for a moment before he can bring himself to speak.

“It’s been a long time, don’t you think?”

His words bring everyone to a stop, attracting three pairs of eyes to his face before they each exchanging knowing glances. Instinctively, they know what he’s talking about.

It’s been a long time coming.

Lyria is the first to speak, tone kind. “It has, hasn’t it?” She hums thoughtfully, tucking a stray strand of blue behind her ear. “Sometimes, it seems like almost nothing has changed.”

The smile he offers her is gentle, but she can tell by the way he’s nursing his cup - holding it in his off hand, tracing the rim with his thumb - that he’s not entirely comfortable. It’s an odd, old habit, and she supposes it must be hard to break millennia-old ticks in a matter of a couple centuries.

“I suppose so,” he offers after a pause. “It’s a lot quieter, sometimes.”

She nods, and they all wait for him to continue.

“I’ve been thinking, lately… It might be time for me to take my leave.”

Lyria’s fingers tense in her lap, and she opens her mouth to reply - but finds she doesn’t have the words. Gran glances at her, then at Djeeta, who nods and turns to Sandalphon.

“You’re not exactly good at being subtle, you know?” Djeeta leans into the table and smiles, teasing despite her melancholy tone. “I feel like that’s the one skill you never picked up from us mortals.” 

“I don’t know if you still get to claim the title of ‘mortal’ after this long,” Sandalphon huffs, leaning back in his chair and closing his eyes. “I don’t recall being obvious about it, either. Old age finally getting to you, hm?” He cracks an eye open at her, his smile snide as he crosses his arms in a fake show of condescension.

Gran knocks him gently on the arm in response. “Oh, shush,” he chides. “If anyone’s getting senile, you’re first to go. Passing the full reins of your coffeeshop to us isn’t exactly in your character, or at least not without your constant nagging that we’re doing it wrong.”

Sandalphon responds with a derisive snort, but the expression on his face stays soft. He takes a moment to swirl his coffee, watching it until it settles. “I suppose so.”

The silence that settles is heavy. Lyria, who had been rather silent through the whole exchange, takes the chance to pipe up.

“You haven’t come by very much in the last little while, or at least not for very long…” She looks up at Sandalphon, blue eyes meeting red. “We all… thought, maybe, something was up. You have somewhere to be, don’t you?”

The bluntness of her question surprises all of them, and the twins exchange shocked looks. Djeeta turns to admonish Lyria for being so direct, but finds herself interrupted before she can start.

“I do,” Sandalphon smiles, but it doesn’t reach the sadness in his eyes. “He’s been waiting for me for… a long time.”

“Now?” Gran and Djeeta ask in unison.

The question prompts Sandalphon’s expression to turn sad. “The world no longer needs a supreme primarch. In fact, I’m more of a folk legend than anything to the current generation of mortals… and, as you’ve said, I’ve already arranged everything with the café. I’ve few ties left, don’t you think?”

His words are reasonable, so none of them try to argue about it. Lyria does, however, speak up:

“Are you going to say goodbye to the other primarchs?”

“That would involve tracking them down, and I have no earthly idea where they are anymore.” Sandalphon sighs. “Perhaps, if it’s not too much to ask, you could tell them where I’ve gone if you ever encounter them.”

“Of course,” Djeeta nods. “Michael’s going to be mad, though, you know.” 

“I suppose she will. I can’t say I’d blame her.” Sandalphon looks down at the table, then snorts. “Tell her that her coffee’s on the house if she ever comes by to meet me, hm?”

Gran frowns. “That’s just going to make her  _ more  _ mad.”

Sandalphon gives a light laugh, then stands up from his chair. The other three follow suit as he walks downstairs to the main floor of the coffeeshop, old wood creaking under his heels. He’s heading to the door when he suddenly stops, prompting Lyria to step on the backs of his heels and squeak out a small apology. He frowns, ignoring her as he turns back around and glances across the shop.

“One moment,” he sighs, then turns back to walk behind the counter. The trio remain crowded by the door as they watch him rummage briefly through the cabinets, then eventually emerge holding two cups in one of his hands. They’re one-of-a-kind; specially made and never used by anyone other than Sandalphon in his morning ritual - a cup for himself, and cup to leave to cool on the windowsill.

“Are you taking those with you?” Lyria questions.

He nods as he walks back to join them. “I’d like to return them to where they belong, if you don’t mind.”

Djeeta shakes her head. “Not at all. They were yours to begin with, after all.”

“Thank you,” he murmurs. He opens the door and steps out into the bright midday sun, stopping and turning around again under the overhang. The trio shuffle out in front of him, watching as he tilts his head up to stare into the sky. 

“I worry,” he starts, then pauses again to gather his words. “I worry, sometimes, that maybe things have changed. Maybe he doesn’t--”

Sandalphon stops himself, taking a deep breath. “Was I selfish, to stay here?”

The question comes suddenly. There’s pleading in his eyes as he looks back down to the three of them, and Lyria steps forward gently to clasp his free hand. “You did what made you happy, didn’t you? Do you regret that?”

His fingers tense before they curl around hers. “No.”

“Then it’s alright,” she smiles, and before she can help it she finds herself with tears running down her cheeks. She pulls her hands back to rub her eyes, sniffling slightly.

Sandalphon watches her for a moment, then crouches down. He pulls Lyria into a tight hug before she can react, and she instinctively curls her arms around him as she presses her face into his shoulder and wails.

“It’s alright,” he repeats her words, voice tender as he strokes her back with his free hand. “I’ll see you again someday, won’t I? This isn’t a goodbye, Lyria. It’s…”

His body shudders with a sob, and he squeezes his eyes tight. “It’s an ‘I’ll be waiting’.”

His voice cracks, but he doesn’t care. Sandalphon soon feels a second hand on his back, then a third, and then he realizes that Gran and Djeeta have crouched down to wrap the two of them into a larger hug. 

They stay like that for a long time, too long, until Sandalphon pulls his arms away and slowly stands back up. His eyes are red and raw, but so is everyone else’s as they try their best to smile at him.

He swallows thickly. “I should be going now.”

“We’ll see you again soon,” Lyria sniffles, giving him a small wave.

“Don’t forget to make us some coffee when we do,” Djeeta teases.

Sandalphon gives a short, lighthearted laugh. “Is that all I am to you? Goodness. I’ll have to make that brew especially good, then, to make up for all the lost time.”

Gran wraps a hand around Lyria’s shoulder, leaning into her as he smiles. “You’d better. Nothing but the best from our Sandalphon, y’know?”

Sandalphon smiles back, thumbing away his tears as he turns around. Behind him, he hears Lyria call one last time:

“We’ll be waiting!”

As he walks away, he takes a moment to turn back and watches Lyria bury her face in Djeeta’s chest as the trio head back into their home. He gives a bittersweet smile, then continues his trek to the edge of the island. The occasional villager he passes by exchanges pleasantries with him, until he’s alone on the edge and staring into the deep blue in front of him.

Sandalphon doesn’t bother to wipe his tears as he unfurls his wings and alights.

Slowly, Zinkenstill fades into the sky behind him.


	2. Death

The garden in the Astral laboratories has fallen into disuse and disarray.

Marble pillars have crumbled, overgrown with vines and roots from the thousand-year-old trees that have encroached on the area. The rose bushes, once cared for obsessively, have spilled their thorny barbs out onto the old stone walkways.

Despite it all, Sandalphon traverses it as easily as the day before the rebellion. Birdsong accompanies him as he follows familiar, weathered paths, and for a moment he closes his eyes and imagines that nothing has changed at all.

He stumbles, catching himself at the last minute before he falls into the ground. A bramble had caught his heel, and he takes a moment to breathe before he untangles himself. When he stands up, he realizes he’s made it to the heart of the courtyard - a small space, semi-enclosed from the elements.

Crossing through the entry archway feels as if he’s stepping into another world, a simpler one from thousands of years ago.

The table and chairs sitting in the centre are as pristine as the day he left.

Sandalphon can feel his heart beating faster again as he rushes over to them, and the table rattles against the stone beneath it as he clumsily bumps into it. With a shaking hand, he carefully places the cups he’s carried from Zinkenstill into the same places they had always belonged in his time with Lucifer.

He steps back, breathless, and nearly crumbles at the sight. Before his legs can give out, he sits down heavily in his old chair.

For a moment, everything feels as if it was a bad dream, but reality is not so kind.

With clumsy fingers, Sandalphon unbuckles the holster on his sword and places it across the table in front of him. He stares at the blade for a moment, then closes his eyes.

For the last time, he materializes his twelve wings.

Sandalphon finds himself suddenly aware of their weight, and reaches into the thick of Lucifer’s wings to pluck a long feather. The jolt of pain fades immediately, and he strokes it tenderly before placing it gently against his sword.

“Thank you, Lucifer.”

Sandalphon exhales as he presses a hand against his chest. Pushing it deeper, he feels something hot and intrusive as his fingers pass through the magic that materializes his armor. Deeper still, probing into the cavity of his chest, his hand closes around a round shape and he pulls it out with little resistance.

His core is dulled after so many years, but still shines with the eternal silver glimmer of a primarch. It’s heavy and warm in the palm of his hand, the warmth pulsating intermittently. Carefully, Sandalphon presses it to his lips.

“I’ll see you soon.” 

His hand closes into a loose fist as his core shatters and dissipates into the air, filling the garden with shards of white light. As the weight on his back begins to lighten, he can feel his vision blurring as his eyes fill with tears.

Giving one last, long sigh, he buries his face into his arms and closes his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two cups, a sword, and a feather - the remnants of a man who bore the world.


	3. Life

Sandalphon awakens to birdsong, dappled sunlight, and the smell of coffee.

He’s leaning against a table, and for a moment he thinks something must be wrong - perhaps things didn’t go as planned, and he’s woken up back in the gardens. Perhaps, even worse, the entire ordeal was a nightmare after dozing off in Zinkenstill. The thought startles him, and his knee bumps into wood as he struggles to his feet. This prompts the clatter of porcelain, which brings Sandalphon to a halt.

Looking down, he finds himself faced with a different set of cups and a different table. Only one is full of cold coffee, with some of it spilled onto the tablecloth from his earlier panic. The other is empty, finished and sitting neatly across from where he woke.

Gradually, Sandalphon feels himself calm down. He takes a look around the room, letting its familiarity soothe him.

However, it’s empty.

There’s an odd sense of apprehension in his chest as he neatly pushes the chair back into the table and stumbles outside. The sunlight is arresting, and it takes him a moment to adjust to it until he can finally gather his bearings. His surroundings are reminiscent of his eternity in the cocoon, and he finds something innate guiding his steps towards the same garden he’d found himself cultivating coffee trees on his own, eons ago.

Sandalphon’s breath catches in his throat when he sees him, back towards him and bent over a patch of dirt. The bright sun catches in his windswept hair and beats against his back, so small without the weight of six wings and the world.

“Lucifer!”

His eager cry makes Lucifer freeze, but just as quickly he’s standing up and turning around on his heel to face him. 

Sandalphon doesn’t have time to catch the surprise on his face before he’s barrelling into his chest, hands clutching desperately at his back. Together, they fall backwards into the dirt. 

“Sandalphon?” Lucifer gasps.

“I’m so sorry I made you wait alone,” Sandalphon sobs, and he feels Lucifer’s hands shake as they trace across his back. “But I’m here now. I’m home, Lucifer.”

“Mm,” Lucifer hums thickly, and his voice wobbles when he speaks.

“Welcome home, Sandalphon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this was rather short, but I wanted to get my ideas done quickly. I'd like to write some kind of sequel, maybe, of their life together after the end.
> 
> Thank you Cygames!
> 
> I find it rude when strangers comment criticism (constructive or not) unprompted, so please don't! I write fics for my own entertainment.
> 
> Thank you for reading! Comments are always appreciated.


End file.
